


Cabbages and Kings

by emilyshka



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:49:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emilyshka/pseuds/emilyshka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey Derek, why don’t you give this nice young man an oyster menu?”</p><p>A voice behind him says, “Thought he was drinking his dinner.”</p><p>“Hey! I’ll have you know I am in the middle of a very delicate, um--”</p><p>Stiles trails off as he turns to look at the most beautiful man he has ever seen, who has been shucking and plating oysters behind the bar the whole time he’s been sitting there. He was way more stressed than he’d thought if he hadn’t noticed that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cabbages and Kings

**Author's Note:**

> Something I've had kicking around in my head for a bit, just some fluffy, porny human AU. Many thanks to [floweryinsults](http://floweryinsults.tumblr.com/) and [tangledwinterhair](http://katleyn.co.vu/) for beta help. Hope you enjoy it!

+ 

Stiles would be the first to admit this evening isn’t going quite how he’d hoped. The restaurant is great, perfect. Some soft music is playing, jazzy and low and warm, the lights are amber and dim and the garden patio behind him looks like something out of the brain of Jay Gatsby. The low, intimate tables are surrounded by explosions of ferns and trumpet flowers woven with fairy lights and candles in mason jars.

Everything is perfect except Scott is proposing to Allison and he forgot the ring at home.

When Scott had asked for his help with the proposal Stiles had actually choked up a little. His best bro, grown up and in love and wanting to get _married_ what the hell. He’d pulled Scott into a tight hug and swore he’d do everything in his power to ensure his future happiness forever and always until Scott had wrestled his way out of his grip, laughing. See, Stiles had the plans, Stiles was the _master of the plans_ and so help him Allison was going to be so swept off her feet by romance she was going to _crap her pants_.

“But, you know. In a romantic way.” He’d said to Scott later, over celebratory beers. Romance-fuel, for the romantic plans to come.

Scott, three drinks in, was already looking like he was regretting the decisions that had led him here.

“I’m a little worried by how many times you’ve said ‘romance’ in the last half hour. Allison’s not like, super girly, you know? I just want it to be special.”

Stiles scoffed and hand-waved. Of course he knew that. Scott had a lot to learn about the true meaning of romance. Just because he’d been dating the same person for the last four years and Stiles...hadn’t didn’t mean Stiles didn’t still have plenty to teach him. Scott could leave everything to him. 

Of course, he hadn’t meant that _literally_ , he thinks bitterly, stabbing his straw into his cup full of crushed ice. He sat at the oyster bar, trying to walk the subtle line of getting Scott to notice him while not being twitchy enough that management kicked him out. Or he let Allison see him.

He'd been there while Scott was getting ready, giving him a last minute pep-talk while Scott shaved and tried to figure out how to open a dry-cleaning bag without wrinkling his suit. Scott had been sweating bullets, but he'd stepped out the front door to pick Allison up with his head held high and a hopeful smile on his face. Stiles had waved him off from the door, wolf-whistling as Scott made his way down the hall. He'd sighed happily and walked back inside, sitting on the couch secure in the knowledge that he'd done all he could and now it was out of his hands.

Then he'd spotted the ring box on the kitchen counter.

He lifts the first two fingers of one hand to his temple and narrows his eyes at the happy couple through the french doors.

 _Hey, Buddy!_ he thought-screams, _look over here! Please! You're not answering your phone so for the love of all that is holy and space-worthy would you please look over here and get this stupid velvet box I brought down here for you. Just say you have to go to the bathroom! Something!_

Scott smiles and reaches out, taking Allison’s hand and folding it into his own. Allison looks at him through her eyelashes and says something that makes him laugh. They look disgustingly in love. No one stands up.

“Ugh,” Stiles says, “I give up.” He turns back to his drink. Either Scott will magically have to go to the bathroom in the next few minutes and Stiles can tackle him on his way into a stall, or he’ll start to propose, reach into his pocket and…

Stiles sighs around the straw in his mouth.

“You want another one, Cutie?” There’s a blond waitress suddenly at his elbow, raising a pencilled eyebrow at his cup.

“Yeah, I guess.” He says, reluctantly handing over his empty drink. “Um, a Zombie #6, please.”

She quirks bright red lips at him and looks over his shoulder, putting his cup on a tray. “Hey Derek, why don’t you give this nice young man an oyster menu?”

A voice behind him says, “Thought he was drinking his dinner.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know I am in the middle of a very delicate, um--”

Stiles trails off as he turns to look at the most beautiful man he has ever seen, who has been shucking and plating oysters behind the bar the whole time he’s been sitting there. He was way more stressed than he’d thought if he hadn’t noticed _that_.

The man, Derek, raises a very impressive eyebrow and doesn’t pause for a moment in his oyster shucking. He wears a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbow and a thin tie under a black waistcoat. Around his waist is a plain navy apron with a few extra oyster knives tucked into it. His hands are large and strong, confidently _popping_ each oyster open before smoothly sliding the knife under the meat and flipping it, setting them onto a tray of crushed ice.

“It’s a...thing.”

“A thing?” pop, slide, flip.

Stiles suddenly feels very warm, meeting Derek’s eyes. Jesus even his _eyes_. Blue and green and deeply, profoundly unfair. He wishes he’d kept his cup so at least he could look at that instead. He barely notices the waitress backing away with a smirk. Shaking his head slightly, he smiles, trying to get himself together. He’s seen attractive people before. He’s spoken to them, gone home with them and just because someone had nice eyes and stubble and seems really confident with his hands is absolutely no reason to get all fluttery and clammy.

Ha. Clammy. 

“Yeah, personal emergency. Bro-mergency. My uh, my friend is proposing tonight.” He jerks a thumb behind him at the garden and Derek looks over his head, leaning his head a little to the side and highlighting the natural shadows and strong tendons of his neck. _Je_ sus, _where_ is his _drink_.

“The middle table?”

“Uh, yeah. The lovebirds. Birds in love. How’d you know?”

Derek smiles a little smile that Stiles feels like an oyster knife between the ribs and _finally_ looks down at what he’s doing, checking a ticket before handing off a full tray of oysters to a tall, curly-haired waiter rushing by. He sets up the next tray of ice and started the oysters again. Pop, slide, flip. 

“We get a lot of proposals in here, you learn to spot the signs pretty fast.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah, you know. Clearly not a first date, but we haven’t seen them in here a lot. Probably a special occasion. So, a nice place to be _romantic_.”

His face twists a little as he says it and Stiles feels like someone had taken his intestines and is squeezing them in a fist. He’d picked the restaurant. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Nice but not, you know _too_ nice. Cool and intimate and low-key. He picks up a coaster off the bar and starts tearing at it. “Well, yeah. I mean, shouldn’t a proposal be romantic?” 

“Derek’s just grumpy because seeing people in love gives him indigestion. It takes away from time he spends brooding at shellfish.”

“ _Erica_ ,” Derek has stopped shucking and is glaring at the waitress with gritted teeth.

“Rule number one: don’t scare cute boys at the bar. This is why you never get laid, even though you’re pretty.”

Derek stabs the oyster knife into the counter, making Stiles jump in his seat. Erica rolls her eyes and plucks Stiles’s drink off her tray, putting it on a fresh coaster. 

“Your Zombie #6. And I’ll just take that,” she takes the mangled coaster out of Stiles’s hands and spins on one stilettoed heel out onto the patio.

Derek glares after her, hand still wrapped around the knife he’d stuck in the bar. Stiles clears his throat and pulls the drink towards him. Ooh, this one has _pineapple_. 

“So. I’m Stiles.” 

Derek’s eyes flick to his and back to the knife, which he yanks out of the counter and tosses into a bin. “Derek.”

“So, not a huge fan of romance, huh?” 

“I’ve had some--” Derek breaks off with a frustrated sound and pulls a new knife out of his apron, picking up an oyster, “It’s fine. It’s nice, sometimes. We just get a lot of it here.”

“Well, yeah,” Stiles laughs. Seeing Derek flustered is making it much easier to ignore the increasingly happy feelings coming from his pants. Feelings that are worryingly not diminished by the stabbing. Though maybe that’s the liquor. “I mean, oysters, you know?”

“Know what?” Derek’s eyebrows come together. Derek’s eyebrows are great. Everything is _great_.

“Oysters!” Stiles gestures with his drink at the mountains of oysters on ice surrounding Derek. “They’re, like, the number one aphrodisiac food! Them and cherries. Or possibly strawberries. Or figs. I can never remember the fruit ones. I guess anything juicy and delicious could probably work but oysters are, you know. Salty and wet and you just _swallow_ them whole…” 

Derek has stopped shucking oysters again, he’s staring at Stiles with a strange look on his face. His grip on the knife looks painfully tight. He opens his mouth and closes it again.

“Do you, um,” His voice is rougher than it was before. Stiles makes an inquiring noise around the straw in his drink. “Do you want to try some?”

“Some-- oh, some oysters!" Stiles laughs, "Yeah, sure, why not. I should probably have something to go with my drink." He pulls the skewer of pineapple, cherry and lime out of his cup and bites into the fruit. The pineapple has soaked in the rum and god only knows what else and he moans around the mouthful. Derek makes a quiet, whimpery sort of noise and slams down another tray, scooping ice onto it with what Stiles thinks is probably excessive force.

"I'll just, I'll give you a selection." 

"Yeah, that sounds great! I don't know much about, like, different locations. Vintages. Whatever. Oysters in general, I guess. Except that they taste like seawater. Oh!" He leans an elbow on the bar and points at Derek, "Did you know that the salinity of the ocean _perfectly matches_ the salt levels in amniotic fluid during pregnancy?"

Derek stares at him, and Stiles does a quick mental rewind and immediately wants to crawl under the bar and die. He takes back his earlier opinion, rum is the _worst_. Derek's lips quirk up at the corners. 

"I guess that explains why you ordered a drink with zombie in the name,"

Stiles honks out a surprised laugh, "Hey! Rum is _delicious_. And it’s a julep so I’m happy.”

Derek hmms and keeps arranging his plate. Stiles narrows his eyes, that had sounded a bit sceptical.

“What, are you kidding? It’s like a boozy snow cone! What is not amazing about that?”

“Not really a julep.”

“It’s on the julep part of the menu! I can’t be held responsible.”

Derek outright grins at that, and his front teeth are a little big and sweet. Like a bunny. Stiles is in so much trouble. He slides the plate of oysters in front of Stiles, and plops down a big glass of ice water next to it. Stiles is momentarily distracted from his grown-up snow cone by the large hands splayed on either side of his plate. He carefully puts down the julep. Derek is pointing out the ticket in the middle of the plate.

“They’re listed counter-clockwise--”

“Widdershins,” Stiles says, absently, simultaneously trying to trace the tendons in Derek’s forearms and count the colors in his eyes. He fails at both.

Derek just raises an eyebrow and Stiles snaps his mouth shut, mimes zipping it and throwing away the key.

“Squeeze the lemon wedge over the tops, there’s horseradish, vinegar and cocktail sauce in the middle. Put on whatever you want.”

Stiles picks up the paper and looks at the plate. “There’s two of each?”

“Yeah, you can...try them all. Go back to see if you like them different the second time.”

“Or…” Stiles isn’t reading this wrong, right? “You could share them with me.”

Derek actually looks startled, and Stiles does a hasty backstroke, “Or not! I mean, you’re probably sick of oysters. You’re around them all the time, why would you--”

“I love oysters.” Derek picks up a lemon wedge and squeezes it over half the plate. He looks at Stiles who nods vigorously and he picks up a second wedge and douses the rest in juice.

“What’s the water for?” Stiles asks. Derek glares at him as he throws the used lemon in the trash.

“You can’t taste them with all that sugary shit in your mouth.”

“Maybe not _your_ mouth,” Stiles mutters, setting his drink aside and grabbing the water. He takes a big gulp and theatrically swishes it around his mouth. “Okay,” He says, setting it down and letting his hands hover over the plate, “where do we start?”

“Um,” He looks up as Derek shakes his head, like there was a fly around him. “Let’s start with the blue point.”

He picks up a round, shiny oyster and Stiles finds the match on his side of the plate, looking back to Derek for instruction.

"Just tilt it back and," Derek lifts the shell to his mouth, and leans back his head. The oyster slides into his mouth and Stiles watches, fascinated, as his eyes fall shut as he chews. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. Stiles wants to lick it. Derek puts the empty shell back on the tray and nods at the match in Stiles's hand.

"Right," Stiles says, looking down at the plate. He takes the little spoon provided and puts some of everything on the oyster before lifting it up. He mock-cheers Derek with the shell and tosses it back.

The shell is rough against his lower lip but the oyster is satiny and smooth as it slides onto his tongue, tasting like cool, sharp brine and acid and creamy meat and _sex_. Stiles's eyes flutter open and, huh, he hadn't noticed closing them. Derek is looking at him, watching him and _Jesus_ , Stiles can't remember anyone ever looking at him like that before. Time feels slow and syrupy around them, the warm glow of the lights around them shining off the ice on the plate. He feels warmed down to his very core and licks the brine off his lips, feeling another jolt of lust as Derek's eyes follow the movement of his tongue.

"Like I said," Stiles murmurs, "seawater."

Derek's eyes lift to his, "I get my break in a few minutes."

Stiles freezes, "Oh?" He leans in close, resting his elbows on the bar. Good food and liquor and _that fucking look_ Derek is still giving him making him feel like he’s twelve feet tall and can breathe fire. Sexy fire. "That's nice. You got any plans for that?"

Derek smirks and gives him an obvious once-over. "More and more every second." 

Stiles smirks right back, "That's good, plans are good. You feel like sharing what these pl--oh _shit I forgot about Scott._ "

He whips around on his stool so fast he almost falls off and breathes a huge sigh of relief as he sees that Scott is still smiling and holding Allison's hand. He narrows his eyes at them and wonders whether they’ve moved at all since the last time he'd checked. Turning back to the bar he meets Derek's raised eyebrows with a rueful grin that he hopes can pass for charming.

"So, yeah, that sounds...like the best thing ever actually but before any of that I need to get _this_ ," he pulls the ring box out of his pocket and puts it on the bar between them, "into _that guy's_ possession." He jerks a thumb over his shoulder at Scott and spreads his hands wide as Derek's eyebrows retreat further towards his hairline. "Thoughts?" 

Derek snorts and grabs a towel near him, wiping his hands as he scans the restaurant. “How about this,” He says, crumpling the towel into a ball and throwing it at Erica's head as she passes. She swears and tears it off her hair, glaring at him through her curls. 

"Wow, a _death wish_ that's new, Derek." 

"Sorry," Derek says, looking not sorry at all and picking up the box, "Do you think you can get this into Romeo's pocket over there without his girlfriend noticing?"

Erica looks from the box to the table in the garden where Allison and Scott have graduated to...holding _both_ hands. Jesus, they’re gonna be here all night.

Erica snatches the box out of Derek's hand, points at Stiles, saying "You better be leaving me the biggest tip," and turns to leave before he can stutter out a complete "thank you". She pauses and looks back over her shoulder at Derek, "Should I tell Boyd you're on break?"

"Please."

She smirks, sends Stiles a filthy wink and walks over to the table. Stiles watches nervously as she approaches, smiling, gesturing at their food and leaning over Scott's shoulder to grab a glass with one hand. With the other she slips the box into his suit jacket pocket.

Stiles lets out a whoop and then slips off his stool in his hurry to hide when both Scott and Allison look over. Oops. A hand closes around his arm and gently tugs him out of sight. Stiles looks around and sees that Derek has come out from behind the bar and shed his apron and is briefly struck dumb by the heat of him this close, without the bar between them. The hand wrapped around his bicep feels like a brand through his jacket and shirt. 

He clears his throat, "Hi."

Derek grins, "Hi," he pulls at his arm again, leading him away from the bar.

Stiles just has time to reach into his pocket and dump a fistful of cash by his plate, meeting Scott's surprised eyes for a second before Derek pulls him through a door and down a hallway. Stiles can barely believe this is happening, he’s more than half-hard in his pants just at the idea of what is _about_ to happen and then they’re outside.

Stiles stumbles out first into an alleyway behind the restaurant, he can hear people walking on the street, but there’s a gate between where they are and him and he can’t see anything beyond the purple patch of sky overhead and Derek directly in front of him, closing the door behind them. The door shuts with a light _snick_ and Stiles licks his lips, backing up slowly as Derek lets go of the handle and starts walking towards him.

God, where to even _begin_.

He feels a brick wall behind him and stops, but Derek keeps stalking forward, his eyes flicking from Stiles's face to his neck to his waist. Stiles presses his hands against the wall by his sides to keep himself from reaching out and just grabbing him. How do people do this? He should play it cool, right? At least _try_ to--

Derek slips one hand over his hip and the other around the back of his neck, leaning in to kiss him, hot and wet and open and Stiles's hands fly away from the wall like it’s on fire. He grabs onto the front of Derek's vest for dear life and presses back against him, kissing back for all he’s worth.

Derek moans into his mouth and pushes him further against the wall, making Stiles gasp. He feels surrounded on all sides by heat and skin and _muscles_ Jesus Christ, Derek is apparently built like a brick shithouse. Then Derek works one hard thigh between his legs and Stiles throws back his head on a gasp, whacking it against the brick.

"Ow," he says, and Derek actually starts _backing up what the hell_.

"Are you--?" He starts, eyebrows furrowed.

"I'm fine, I'm a disaster don't worry about it come _back here,_ " and he reaches up behind Derek's head to pull his mouth back to his fast enough to feel Derek's snort of laughter against his teeth and. Oh. Stiles has some Feelings about that too, apparently. 

Derek works a hand beneath his jacket and under the hem of his shirt and Stiles shivers, a little embarrassed by the little choked-off noises that he’s making and then immediately kicking that part of his brain in the teeth. No time for embarrassment when he’s got such a bounty of gorgeous flesh under his hands. He sucks on Derek’s tongue, grinding down on his thigh in revenge. Derek groans, deep in his chest and grabs Stiles around the waist with both hands, rolling his hips up and there’s his cock, oh god. Stiles moans low and long as Derek starts a grinding rhythm, kissing his way from his mouth, along his jaw and biting little stinging kisses down his neck.

"We're in an alley," Derek says, laving his tongue against the marks Stiles can feel him leaving behind.

"Yeah," Stiles moans, pulling Derek even closer. Why the hell is there still space between them?

"I don't," Derek gasps against his neck, "I don't want to fuck you in an alley."

"Uhm," Stiles says, his hands stuttering to a stop on Derek's shoulders, "that's not-- I mean that's a little disappointing and also confusing but okay we can--" he breaks off with a yelp when Derek roughly palms his ass through his pants. Derek leans back a little to look at him, pinning Stiles to the wall with his hips and his eyes.

"I mean I want you in my bed." He growls, and Stiles feels a shiver work it's way through his body.

"Hnn _yes_ , please yes oh my god please tell me you live near here." 

Derek smiles and his teeth look sharp in the moonlight. "Right around the corner."

+ 

How they manage to get through the gate, down the block and through the front door of Derek’s building Stiles isn’t entirely sure. How they manage to do all that without being arrested for public indecency he has _no fucking clue_. All he knows is that if Derek doesn’t get his hands on his skin in the next ten seconds he is going to lose his mind. He’s behind Derek, fingers tucked just beneath the waistband of his pants, leaving open-mouthed kisses against the back of his neck as Derek shivers and swears, one hand digging through his pockets for his keys and the other apparently unwilling to stop touching Stiles for even a moment: running from his wrist to the back of his head to his shoulder and back again.

Finally, _finally,_ the door opens and he tugs Stiles through and presses him against the inside before he even turns the light on. Stiles sighs and curls his fingers around Derek’s jaw, feeling the softness of his hair against his fingertips and wet tingling warmth against his lips. Eventually he has to take a breath, so he leans back and tries to meet Derek’s eye in the near-darkness. There’s a window somewhere, so Stiles figures he can at least make out his eyebrows.

“You really like shoving me into walls ‘n things.” He observes.

Derek looks almost...shifty in the low light. “I don’t...you move around a lot,” he says, “I like seeing what it takes to keep you still." 

“Oh, I’m not _complaining_ ,” Stiles says. He’s not _crazy_. He runs his fingers through the hair on Derek’s scalp and is delighted to see his eyelashes flutter closed, “Feel free to manhandle as much as you want. You know, within reason. But you should know that if my pants aren’t off soon we’re going to have a problem.”

Derek’s teeth flash in the low light, “I think I can take care of that.”

Stiles yelps as Derek’s hands slide over his ass and under his thighs, lifting him away from the door until Stiles throws his arms around his neck to keep from falling. One, two, three steps around and Stiles feels a different door give way behind his back and then he’s falling onto a mattress. Street lights bathe the room in cool yellow light and Stiles shakes his jacket off and fumbles at the buttons of his jeans, watching as Derek raises a hand to his tie and yanks it free of its knot, throwing it onto the floor, eyes never leaving Stiles. His gaze is hot as he grabs the ankles of Stiles’s pants and pulls them down, taking his socks with them. One hand feels its way up Stiles’s leg to knead his thigh and Stiles feels a high keening noise leave his throat.

Derek plants one knee on the bed and rests his other hand beside Stiles's hip. “ _Fuck_ , just fucking _look_ at you.”

And Stiles knows he isn’t bad to look at but that’s a more stellar review than he’s received in quite a while. He fights the urge to hide his face and sits up, licking into Derek’s mouth and struggling with the buttons of his vest. Derek runs his hands up Stiles’s sides, taking his shirt with them until Stiles has to lean back, raising his arms so Derek can pull it over his head.

“How am I this much more naked than you?” Stiles asks, “Unacceptable.” He starts on the bottom buttons of Derek’s shirt as Derek laughs and keeps working from the top.

His hands move faster, and when they meet in the middle they both race to push it off his shoulders to join the rest of their clothing on the floor.

“How do you want to--?” Stiles starts, shoving at Derek’s pants with his feet as they slide over his hips and Derek moves to kneel fully between his thighs.

“Here,” Derek says, grinding his erection against Stiles’s trapped cock and gasping into his mouth, “Or, your mouth--”

“Next time.” Stiles says, and freezes.

But Derek just kisses him and agrees, “Next time,” before shifting down his body and lifting Stiles’s boxers over his hard cock, down his legs and off.

Stiles feels like he’s bubbling over, like he’s full from head to toe with molten, boiling metal and it’s about to explode. He lifts his head from where he'd let it fall against the mattress to look at Derek. At Derek's...everything, god. Derek's erection looks painfully hard, flushed dark and curving up toward his abs. His lips are red and swollen and his hair is sticking up in awkward tufts from where Stiles had run his hands through it and tugged.

 _I did that_ he thinks, dazedly, and then Derek takes his cock into his mouth and he doesn't think anything for a while.

Derek's tongue swirls around the head of his dick and Stiles thrashes on the bed, trying not to fuck up into his throat and spend himself then and there. Derek's forearm comes down over his hips, holding him down and Stiles whines, tight in his throat and licks the sweat from his lips. But he's been on the edge for too long, and he lets go of the sheets to tug gently at Derek's hair.

"S'too good, 'm gonna come."

Derek makes a frustrated sound and sinks further down onto his cock. Stiles chokes on his own spit and tugs harder.

"P-please. Want you to fuck me, c'mon." He can fucking _feel_ the shiver that runs through Derek with the grip he has on his hair, pulling him up and up back to his mouth. The sheets are cool against his back but against his front it feels like miles and miles of hot, smooth skin are sweeping him further up the bed. Derek's hands span the sides of his rib cage and he can feel them shift as he takes a deep breath, trying to ground himself and pay attention to anything that isn't their cocks sliding together through the slick of precome and sweat on his stomach.

Derek kisses him hard and fast and levers himself up on one hand, leaning to the side and shoving his hand into the open bedside table drawer. Stiles tries to catch his breath as Derek growls in frustration, tossing pens and things onto the floor in his search for what Stiles assumes is condoms and lube. He lets his hands wander, running his fingers along the edges of his abs, up to his chest and rubbing his thumbs in light circles against his nipples as Derek jerks and swears above him.

Derek knocks his hands away and glares at him. "Stop that."

Stiles grins at him, unrepentant, "What's the matter? Ticklish?"

Derek's eyes narrow, but then he smirks and tosses the packet of lube onto the bed and flexes his fingers over Stiles's torso in what he privately considers to be the most threatening display of jazz hands he's ever seen. 

Stiles tenses and starts to roll away a beat too late as the hands come down and dig into his sides. He yelps with laughter, trying to tuck into a ball but Derek lowers himself again, flattening him against the bed and pulling Stiles's hands over his head, kissing him.

"Such an asshole," Stiles pants, grinning against Derek's mouth. Derek just hums in agreement and holds his wrists in one large hand, grabbing the lube in the other. Stiles breathes deep as he feels a wet finger circling his hole, pushing his forehead against Derek's temple as it works its way inside. Derek quickly works him up to two, scissoring them inside before twisting them and pulling them almost all the way out before pumping them in again. 

It’s been a while since he’s had anyone’s fingers but his own inside him and it’s almost too much. But the stretch and burn is a faint echo in the back of his mind, drowned in heavy syrup and heady sensation: Derek’s forehead against his own, the scrape of hair against his nipples and those thick fingers twisting inside him, winding him tighter and tighter until he feels like he has as much substance left as a cloud of cotton candy on a stick.

“Now. Now, now please now." 

“Impatient,” Derek says, but his voice is strained and his eyes are fixed down, watching his own fingers disappear into Stiles.

“Derek, if you do not--” he breaks off with a gasp as Derek skates across his prostate, a light, glancing touch that nonetheless rocks him to his core.

“Fuck,” Derek breathes, and kisses him quiet as he removes his fingers. Stiles watches as he rolls on a condom, slicking his cock with one hand and lifting Stiles’s leg beneath the knee with the other. He pushes his leg up until it’s almost pressing against his chest, guiding his cock inside with the other hand.

Stiles feels like his breath is being pushed from the very bottom of his lungs as Derek pushes inside. Derek hooks an elbow under his other leg and lifts, pushing his hips forward until Stiles’s hips tilt up and his cock slides home. His grip is slippery on Stiles’s knee and Stiles gasps in a breath and feels warm, slippery and _full_.

“C’mon, Grumpy,” he lets a lazy smile stretch across his face and shifts his hips in a small circle. Derek groans and snaps his hips forward quickly. Stiles gasps and arches into it, pushing down on Derek’s cock. Derek starts shallowly thrusting into him at a gentle pace Stiles is sure was created by something really, truly evil. He reaches blindly over his head and pushes at the wall behind him, shoving himself down, faster, again and again.

Derek huffs out a laugh and hooks both of Stiles’s legs over his elbows and braces himself against the mattress, leaning down to bite and lick at Stiles’s mouth. He’s sliding in and out of Stiles at a faster pace, fucking him in earnest and Stiles is barely holding himself together, can barely muster the coordination to meet Derek’s kisses at all. Stiles wants to last, wants this drawn-out torture to go on for weeks and weeks but he also wants to come right the fuck now so he sinks down onto Derek, meeting his thrusts and reaching up to fist his own cock.

Too soon, too soon and eons too late he feels his balls tighten and comes with a yell, feeling wetness spreading between them as Derek gives another dozen, hard thrusts and follows him, bent almost in half and resting his head on Stiles’s shoulder. They stay there for a few breaths, panting and tangled together, until Derek pushes himself up to hold the base of the condom and pull out.

Stiles hisses at the strange, empty sensation but doesn’t have the energy to do much else other than let his legs flop gracelessly onto the bed as Derek gets up to throw it away. He feels rubbery and well-used, and has no interest in moving at all in the near future.

But this isn’t his place, he realizes with a little jolt, he has no right to stay here if Derek doesn’t...he starts to sit up but Derek stops him with a hand on his chest. In his other he has a washcloth which Stiles reaches for until his hand is knocked out of the way. Derek sits on the bed, wiping at the mess Stiles made of himself and then lying down, tossing the used cloth at the laundry hamper in the corner. Stiles lies down next to him and tries to think of something to say that won’t make him sound as broken as he suddenly feels.

“I can, um.”

Derek makes an enquiring noise without opening his eyes. 

“I can-- if you have to go? I can. I can go if you need me to.”

Derek’s eyes crack open and Stiles feels like he’s been put under a very pretty microscope.

“It’s just. I don’t want to get you into trouble. If your break is over.”

“You should stay. Boyd owes me a favor, I’m not going anywhere.” He curls an arm over Stiles’s waist and, to all appearances, settles in for a nap.

“You don’t have to get back to your friend?”

Or not.

Stiles shrugs against the pillow, “They’re probably back at our apartment right now, having wildly passionate newly-engaged-people sex on the kitchen counter. I’m not in any hurry.”

Derek’s eyes crinkle at the edges, “You’re that sure she’s gonna say yes? What if you get back and he’s crying on the couch?”

“She’s gonna say yes. This has been coming for a long time. I mean, come on, you noticed them just sitting at a table.”

“I noticed you," Derek says, and blinks, seems surprised at himself but his lips thin and he doesn’t say anything else.

Stiles feels something settle deep beneath his breast bone and reaches over with a gentle hand to pull Derek into a slow, sweet kiss. He pulls back an inch or two, noses barely brushing. 

“You too.” 

Derek’s eyelashes flick against his as he looks back and forth between Stiles’s eyes, he snakes an arm further around Stiles and up to the back of his neck, pulling him in again.

Stiles settles in for a long night, smiling into kiss after kiss.

He thinks he’d better develop a taste for oysters.

+

 

**Author's Note:**

> The restaurant is loosely based on [Maison Premiere](http://maisonpremiere.com/#1) in Brooklyn. Title from The Walrus and the Carpenter, by Lewis Carroll.
> 
> Come hang out on [tumblr](http://emilyshkavonzengen.tumblr.com)!


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